On the Dilating Pupils of Heroes

I know your titles are passive and distanced from your being,
but I am awake and observe while the rumor spreads

The rumor begins: they cannot sleep at night,
their pupils dilating as they toss and turn,
sheets pulled over contorting bodies
too similar to bloated dead men floating down thick rivers,
history hates them more than death despises their lovers

If I look into your eyes,
what will I see, what should I see-
will you be surprised? if I unwind the spools in your pupils,
lay them face up on your office desk like a deck of cards?
No, I will triumph, you do not wear contacts

Even if you did, I would still see the stratus clouds embedded like-
secret crystals reflected through refracted prisms in your smile
The rumor continues: they dream like they are freefalling,
dragging their tender limbs along the clay packed Earth like-
crooked dandelions wresting free of their seeds

The rumor concludes while I collect your thoughts,
in a paper bag and a star sleeps on cold cement steps
in a city that wishes to entomb its light,
 darkened in the shadow of a new becoming,
a new brilliance to step over its place
Of course, you have scarred eyes, nuanced sight

When the light leaks from your irises I search for a tissue but,
someone tells me to grab a canvas instead